Warrior's Moon A Love Story Read online

  She didn’t cry, although tears blurred her vision, and she was able to smile up at him when, at length, he finally let her go enough to look back down at her. He tried to smile as well and it helped when he reached and pulled at a rebellious tendril curl that hung at her the side of her face. It sprung back when he released it and Chantaya shook her head and rolled her tear bright eyes. He chuckled and leaned to kiss her temple and said, “I love you, Chani. Goodbye.”

  To Isabella, he said, “Pray don’t let her do anything that might end her life before I return to watch over her again, will you? For I would miss her so.”

  Isabella smiled through her own tears and answered, “I will do my best, Sir Peyton Wolfgar. And take care for yourself. God bless you son.”

  He climbed back on his horse. The two men turned to go and Chantaya felt she would explode from the pressure of holding her tears back until just before they entered the woods again, Peyton turned back and gave her one long, last look. When he was finally gone, she let out a deep, sad breath as she turned into her mother’s embrace and let the tears come as she whispered, “God bless and keep you, Sir Peyton.”

  Chapter 7

  For a time, Peyton didn’t have a chance to miss Chantaya. After the first afternoon of entering the knight encampment, he was nearly overwhelmed with learning both new protocols and new names and faces. He met the king himself the very first day and was quite surprised when the monarch literally wrapped his arms round Sir Mordecai after first accepting his humble bow before him. The fact that King Dougal loved and respected Sir Mordecai couldn’t have been more apparent.

  The king had then turned back to Peyton who bowed himself as Mordecai had instructed. The king gripped Peyton’s hand on standing and looked him in the eye as he said, “I have heard good things about you, young Peyton Wolfgar. Sir Mordecai has great faith in you, and I absolutely trust his judgment. Thank you for your willingness to serve. ‘Tis need this kingdom has for honorable men who are willing to defend our freedoms. Welcome to Valais and I look forward to watching you come of age with us. God bless you son.”

  Peyton only nodded, unsure of what one said to the king and astounded to be so welcomed by one so powerful. Somehow, he’d expected the king to be more haughty and less personable to a mere peasant boy.

  Meeting the king was actually less intimidating than meeting the other knights and squires. Some of them welcomed him with open friendship, but others showed a reserve that ranged from mild coolness toward him to almost hostility, even though all were respectful of Mordecai. It wasn’t hard to understand. Some of these young men had been working their way up to where Peyton was for most of their lives and none of them had any idea of the amount of time he had put in under Mordecai’s tutelage before coming here. To some of them, he was an interloper who hadn’t paid his dues.

  He and Mordecai met each other’s eyes after a particularly cool introduction and Peyton knew that Mordecai wanted him to simply prove his worthiness and value to them with his actions; something Peyton had known would be necessary long before arriving here in the first place. And true to his nature, Peyton simply stepped into his new role of squire with the same quiet confidence and work ethic he employed in every other aspect of his life. It wasn’t in him to shirk or hesitate. It never had been. It never would be.

  Meeting Sir Kendall Bosken was actually more of an event for Peyton than even meeting the king had been. Peyton hadn’t realized he would be meeting the king when his entourage had shown up in the knight encampment the afternoon of their arrival, but he had been looking forward to meeting Sir Kendall from the moment Mordecai had first spoken of him upon his return from Valais. Sir Kendall was tall and almost slender under his tunic with salt and pepper graying hair and calm blue gray eyes that quietly appraised Peyton before crinkling at their outer edges as he smiled at him.

  He extended a hand and said, “Ah, Peyton Wolfgar. ‘Tis good to meet you. Especially as Mordecai assures me he’s already knocked some of the rough edges off of you. It’ll be pleasing to be able to finish the job instead of starting with a green youngster for a time. The older I get, the more I appreciate tranquility in my life. These truly young bloods have a lack of that at times. Welcome to Valais.”

  Again, Peyton answered minimally, “Thank you, sir. I am honored to be here. I hope indeed that I’m not wholly rough.”

  Sir Kendall had simply laughed quietly as he joyfully embraced Mordecai, the man who had trained him in his own youth and answered, “If you have been round Sir Mordecai for long at all, I am sure you can’t be too rough. Sir Mordecai is the best of the best. You are unduly blessed to be in association with him, as was I at your age. There is none finer to have at your back or your side.” To Mordecai he said, “Are you well, old man? You yet look fit to take us all. Pray tell me you intend to join us again in battle if need be. At the very least, say you’ll resume membership in the Great Council. Your judgment is sorely missed there since your leaving.”

  Mordecai only shook his head and chuckled. “I am an old man, Sir Kendall. My hands are gnarled and my mind addled. ‘Tis time for others to keep the reins.”

  They quit the embrace, but Kendall kept an arm about the older man. “You are no more addled than the youngest of us. If only the others all had your judgment and vision, man. This kingdom would be in better shape. There are those now who would seek for power instead of for justice.”

  Mordecai nodded. “’Tis why I have brought you Peyton, Sir Kendall. More like him would put things back to rights. He is wise beyond his years and will indeed be at your back. You will thank me before this kingdom is settled once again. Just get him settled into this life with an urgency. There is trouble brewing. I can feel it in my old bones.”

  They went on to speak of what the kingdom of Monciere was in need of and Peyton listened well to their talk of strategy and political strength. He had no doubts he could hold his own on a battlefield, in spite of his youth. ‘Twas the wisdom of handling people and powers he needed to work on. That and figuring out how things worked here in the city and the knight encampment and near the castle. Those were issues he had no knowledge of.

  In some things, being ignorant of the knight’s ways was a huge hurdle, but in some, it was fortuitous. Mordecai left him on the morning of the fourth day, and on that same day, he was competing at the joust with other squires in training, when he was pitted against another called Laird on a magnificent dappled gray charger. As Peyton rode out to take his place in the arena, he noted there was a strange quiet to the others and for just a moment, he wondered about it, but soon had to focus on the joust before him and his horse so excited for the competition it was half rearing in nervous anticipation.

  As the flag was dropped, he spurred his horse forward and blocked from his mind all but the opponent as he hit this Laird’s lance and shattered it. He had been trying to unseat the other young man and was slightly disappointed and then had to wonder why the others who were watching weren’t cheering for one or the other competitors as they usually did.

  The horses circled around and Laird stopped to get another lance. Peyton sat his mount at the far end of the arena and waited again for the flag to drop. As it descended, he leaped his mount forward, and this time was gratified to find he successfully unhorsed Laird who tumbled off the back of the great charger and landed unceremoniously on his backside in the arena dirt. Peyton nodded to himself in satisfaction and then galloped around to catch Laird’s loose horse. That was more like it. Laird had been the only other squire Peyton hadn’t unseated in the first attempt. The second round wasn’t as satisfactory, but at least he’d been unhorsed.

  As Peyton led the other horse back to its rider, he was surprised to be confronted by he who handled the flag that started the competition. As Peyton went to ride past him, the man strode into the arena and Peyton pulled up, wondering why this man who had seemed even tempered these last days, was now scowling at Peyton’s approach. He glared up at Peyton and all but hissed, “’Ti
s the prince, you idiot! Hast thou no sense of honor? Let him win, thou fool!”

  The flag bearer stalked back to his platform and Peyton furrowed his brow in trying to figure out just what the man had meant and what he was to do now. The prince. Why had no one warned him he was going against the prince? He should have realized it. Laird wasn’t that common a name. But, was it not honorable to truly compete? To Peyton, that was exactly backwards. Falsely handicapping himself was what seemed less than honorable. Had he been the prince, he’d have been offended to be considered ineffective without handicapping the others. Yet, apparently, that wasn’t the case here.

  Peyton turned again to go back up the arena to take the gray horse to the unseated prince. As he approached, he pushed his helmet shield up and Prince Laird did the same. Peyton eyed him for a moment, trying to read his temperament, but upon being still unsure, he said, “Forgive me, Your Highness. I knew not you were the prince. The flag bearer has just now called me a fool for not knowing and letting you win. Forgive me if I’ve broken protocol. I’m new here and know not all the rules.”

  The prince only grinned and shook his head. “If ‘tis the rule, it shouldn’t be. It’s thoroughly deflating. Is not the goal to learn to be the best for battle? As one training for victory, I prefer honest competition. And for once, it was refreshing to have someone truly try their best. You’re the first ever to not let me win. I feel fair flattered.”

  He mounted his horse and then reached across to shake Peyton’s hand as Peyton grinned back and asked, “Well, Your Highness, you were the only one I couldn’t unseat the first try. Tell me, does your backside feel flattered as well, then? And what does a newcomer do in the third attempt? Now that I realize who you are and also what you prefer.”

  The prince chuckled. “Who do you fear more? The prince or the flag bearer?”

  Still grinning, Peyton said, “Even a new comer knows my answer should be you, but in truth, he appears far more irritable.”

  The prince shook his head. “Fear the prince. I’ll handle the flag bearer.”

  Peyton nodded. “As you wish, Sire. Have you enough padding for your backside?”

  The prince laughed right out. “Have you enough for yours? And is your helmet large enough to fit that ego inside?”

  Peyton snapped his shield down and spoke muffled, “It seems to fit just fine. Good luck, Your Highness.” The prince only laughed again as he snapped his own shield down and turned to gallop up the field.

  Even after their conversation, Peyton wondered what he was to do, but then decided that if he were prince, he’d respect true effort. With that thought in mind, he waited for the flag to drop and then charged up the field and knocked the prince smartly off the back of his horse again and then went to collect the loose gray charger. Bringing the horse back around, he wished for the wisdom of Mordecai for a moment as the flag bearer stomped out onto the field. Peyton respectfully walked the horses over to him and humbly bowed his head as the man fair gave him a tongue lashing and then Peyton continued on to where the prince stood in the dirt of the arena.

  Again, Peyton pushed up his helmet shield as he approached and the prince did the same, grinned and then dramatically rubbed where he’d landed and began to limp to accept the horse. Peyton laughed at him and then said, “I thought you said you’d handle the flag bearer.”

  “Yes. But that 'twas before you doubled up your striking force. In truth, I didn’t have near enough padding for that blasting.”

  Peyton grinned. “Pray, forgive me. Next time, I’ll let you win.”

  “Now you’re adding insult to bruising. What did he say to you?”

  “Only that I’m no longer to be a soldier, but a potato peeler for the rest of my days on earth.”

  The prince chuckled, shook his head and groaned as he climbed back onto his charger. “Don’t worry. I’ll see to it you stay on. We definitely need that kind of skill in battle. Who are you and where did you come from?”

  Peyton bowed as well as he could from on his own horse. “Peyton Wolfgar, at your service Your Highness.”

  “And where did you come from young Wolfgar? I’ve not seen you and limped to tell of it before.”

  “Of Navarre. I came to train with Sir Kendall at the request of Sir Mordecai.”

  Nodding, the prince said thoughtfully, “You are he then. The one Sir Mordecai told us about. He said you were good. He was right. Painfully so.”

  “My deepest apologies, Sire.”

  “No. Even bruised, I still prefer an honest contest. You’re from Lord Rosskeene’s lands then? Have you a moment that we might speak?”

  “Of course, Your Highness.”

  “Good. Come then my valiant friend. Let us talk where your flag bearer may see us. Maybe then he’ll ease your peeling sentence to leave you at least a few good years to fight for the king.”

  The two rode out of the arena side by side as Peyton said, “I pray it is so, Sire.”

  The prince laughed again. “I’m certain you do. But only because you haven’t seen the kitchen maids yet. There’s a sassy red head there who makes even a prince wish to spend time peeling potatoes. Do you prefer red heads, Peyton?”

  “In truth, no Sire. Forgive me.”

  “Blondes then?”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint, Prince Laird, but no, even with all manner of blondes, I will still dislike potato peeling.”

  “I see. Is it brunettes then? Would that make you want to keep to the kitchen?”

  “Only if it was a certain one, Your Highness. Otherwise, I’d much prefer to be here, knocking the royalty from the backs of their steeds. Readying to defend them in battle.”

  The prince chuckled again and asked, “The brunettes or the royalty?”

  “Both Sire. I stand at the ready.”

  “Yes, I can see that. Has Kendall said how long before he’ll ask to have you knighted?”

  “I know not.”

  Rubbing his thigh, the prince pulled his horse up a distance away from the others present and said drily, “I can’t imagine ‘twill be long if you can do all manner of things the way you joust. Tell me, Wolfgar, is the younger Lord Rosskeene as belligerent as he seems to be?”

  “In truth, Sire. I haven’t been round him much, but if rumor is to be believed, he is, indeed, quite quarrelsome and cold hearted. Many from the village of Navarre fear that now that his father has turned all his holdings over to his care, they are doomed to abject poverty from steadily rising taxes. They say he will harass them both monetarily and physically into misery. They are often fleeing to others’ lands if they can.”

  The prince was no longer smiling and said, “Yes, we understand that is so. I simply wondered if ‘tis as bad as they say. The younger Lord hasn’t a notion that he would be far better off financially were he to help his tenants to become more productive and give them hope of betterment, rather than squelching their hope, in effect squelching their willingness to try. May I ask you a favor, Wolfgar?”

  “Anything, Your Highness.”

  “Will you discreetly come to me with any news of Rosskeene from home? The king is concerned about what is going on with young Lord Rosskeene. His father has been a good steward, but he will not live forever. The people there have always been good, hard working, law abiding citizens and Rosskeene’s lands are nearly the largest holdings in the whole kingdom of Monciere. ‘Twould be a pity to let a whole region dwindle. Don’t you agree?” Peyton nodded and unexpectedly, the prince asked, “Can you be trusted, Wolfgar?”

  Peyton turned to look him, then pulled his helmet from his head and met the prince’s eyes steadily and said simply, “Yes.”

  The prince looked back at him just as steadily for a moment and then nodded. “Good. My father has need of those who can be trusted. ‘Twas good to meet you, Peyton Wolfgar. Though certain parts of my person may not agree with that statement. Keep training. Perhaps soon ‘twill be Sir Peyton that I’m calling you. Good day.”

  SSSS

  Peyt
on still had to peel potatoes to appease the flag bearer, but that was probably a good thing because some of the other knights and squires had begun to dislike him because he was consistently besting them at the various activities they engaged in. The kitchen punishment, and the fact that Peyton did it so humbly, seemed to ease some of that and Peyton settled into his new life with new friends relatively quickly.

  Sir Kendall was thrilled with him and let him know he was and, in truth, sometimes they worked more on the logistics of how to travel and camp and work together with a body of soldiers more than they studied the skills of war. The skills of battle, like sword fighting and archery and even wrestling, Peyton seemed to have mastered as well as any of the knights. ‘Twas learning to confer and negotiate and fighting together that Peyton didn’t have enough experience in.

  He’d been in Valais for well over a fortnight when he and some of the other young men left the knight encampment and went into the township to make purchases. There, on the street, they met with an entourage of soldiers accompanying a fine carriage drawn by four glistening white horses. The squires turned aside to get out of the way as the carriage slowly passed them by and Peyton saw a lovely dark haired young woman through the carriage window. She was watching the squires and soldiers and townspeople and her eyes met Peyton’s and held as she passed.

  His friend Matthew Ansel, squire to Sir Garrett nudged Peyton with an elbow and grinned at him as he nodded toward the carriage that pulled to a stop at a confectioners just ahead. The young woman was handed out of the carriage and walked inside the shop as Matthew said, “Princess Clarissa. She was looking at you. New meat. She’s never seen you before.”